


Carried Away

by Shocotate



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre-Canon, Sibling Bonding, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22741942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shocotate/pseuds/Shocotate
Summary: Lust looked to the small, dozing form of her brother, no eyes or teeth or shadows. It would be a shame not to try out her ink stamp once more.After the Fifth Crest is completed, Lust muses on Pride having no Ouroboros. She decides to remedy it herself.
Relationships: Lust & Pride (Selim Bradley)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	Carried Away

**Author's Note:**

> This is set the day after the Fifth Crest of Blood was formed, in October 1835. After forming it, Pride and Lust stayed in the southern town for a few weeks, after not seeing each other very much during the preparations, so I wanted to write something fluffy for them while they're settling in :)
> 
> Huge thanks to Violetlight my beta-reader, she's awesome!
> 
> Also, if you see this 'ſ', it is an s, it appears at the beginning and middle of words, but not at the end and not for capital letters.

Lust smiled in her sleep. After nothing but glances over the months, to at last behold him, her brother, gracing the humans in his older shape, teeth and eyes gleaming through the red. Amid the fire and smoke, the screams within and without, they stood together, drowning them out as one until the stars wheeled overhead. The wandering comet and its wondrous, arcing tail shimmering above made them shine all the more in the moonless night; they had never shined brighter.

The blinding light of the memory softened, and as Lust eased awake her eyes opened to the tender warmth of the new dawn, pouring through the curtains. She snuggled a little more under the thin silk sheets of the hotel bed, but it quickly became much too stuffy, clinging to her. Shuffling backwards, she peeled Pride’s hand-like tendril from her check (when had that gotten there?), it slithering from her palm and rejoining the fine aura wavering over his container, back in its regular form. So close, she watched the small, trembling patches of black tint the skin under his lidded eyes, shadows shifting too close to the surface. His dozing breaths shifted them further and they faded back into his depths.

Wobbling while her ‘shoes’ reformed under her, Lust crossed the room on her tiptoes and threw open the curtains, pushing out onto the Aerugan-styled balcony. Small potted plants decorated the corner rails, still fresh given the crisp, balmy heat of the south. At the highest floor they flourished far above the humans, indifferent to their plights. She made a note to water them.

A sweet silence lingered in the air, disturbed only by whispered breezes that ruffled her hair, a sigh in the stillness of the autumn. Lust rested against the balcony, sighing herself at the cool metal, humming and gazing over the muted wanderings of the forlorn creatures limping aimlessly below, her eventual prey, once she coaxed her brother from bed. Though, given the perfection of the day before, he needed his rest.

“Pride,” she called to him, even the word tasted sweet, “Come, you must see this.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw his true form swell in the morning haze, winding up the bedposts like vines, his eyes blooming in them. A thicker tendril spilled down a leg, across the floor, and wrapped her waist; it lifted, coming to rest in her arms like an ebony serpent. His tendril’s sharp, tapered edge peered over the railing and she imagined a dozen wine-coloured eyes opening, or perhaps only one.

A ways off, puffs of smoke blended with the scattered clouds, though if they were from chimneys or still smouldering fires, Lust could not be sure. She thought of the equally hushed morning before, huddled close in the rubble strewn streets. Did the humans pass them by, thinking them corpses? It did not matter now.

**“The Crest is complete.”** Her brother breathed from deep in the tendril, almost a gasp, **“Do you feel it, sister mine?”** and he squeezed, his strong, solid form beneath his liquid layers tensing and relaxing like a heartbeat. Perhaps his bloodlust was on him, despite his exhaustion. Lust certainly hoped so, squeezing him to her, stroking at the curve of him, running ripples over him. All in good time.

“I feel it,” The despair and rage of the Crest clung to the town below, seeping into the cracked pavements, its power radiating from the earth itself and beneath it the deeper hum of Father’s essence. At last, half of their Father’s desired Crests formed, “they never learn. There’s no helping them.” Lust tried to imagine the front lines over the horizon and shuddered. “We must inform Father,” she said, turning away from the balcony, but left the ‘windows’ open.

**“Yes…”** He obligingly released her, and followed close, sinking into her shadow before rising again, watching with interest, but blinking slowly, still so tired.

Reaching the closed door beside the en-suite, Lust pushed past her blood-soaked dress on its hanger to the dangling pockets behind, unhooking them. For all their extravagances, human dresses had _some_ benefits in concealing so many pockets. Beside it hanged Pride’s currently oversized suit, equally drenched, though where he had gotten it, or when, she was not certain. Lust thought on the months prior, him – in his usual form – occasionally rushing past her through the then peaceful streets, laughing with the neighbourhood boys in his ill-fitting clothes under the endless sunlight, a football at his feet, trailing mud and sharing jeers. What had become of them, she wondered. No matter.

Lust settled at the oak writing desk and from her multitude of pockets plucked out her Ouroboros seal and its scarlet wax, the rest of her writing materials, a small red inkpad, and the newest addition, the strange rubber stamper the quill maker had been most excited about, the coiled dragon upon it as well. How could she refuse? Though he could not know it, far better he craft his _final_ , elegant creation for her than another human.

Smoothing out the paper, the old quill formed bold, refined strokes over it and she switched for a moment to one of Pride’s sleeker crow feathers ( **“an excellent choice,”** he purred to her), here and there, the thinner lines almost unnoticeably so, but Father would _see_ , and know her true meanings.

**_Oct, 1835_**

**_Father,_ **

**_I_ ** _fear **t** err **i** bly what thi **s** border **d** iſpute has wrought. There is **o** nly devaſtatio **n** her **e.** **We ſhall be again at your ſide before the year’s end.**_

**_Your eldest children_ **

It would be so simple, Lust thought as she set her quill down. Once Pride woke in his vessel, they could again roam, chance meet some terrified craven or messenger from the front, a single bat of her lashes would have him falling over himself to take her letter with him, to Central itself or merely a functioning post office the next town over, it did not matter.

But for now, the letter was still wet, beads of ink shiny in the tea lights. She felt Pride’s squinted eyes upon her as she ducked under the desk, reaching into the ice box beneath. Inside, a tiny milk jug nestled beneath a pale green bottle, white wine from a lush Aerugan vineyard to the west, only for the most esteemed guests, of course. One day Amestris would spill over, whether in this border war or the next, and take such for themselves. Soon enough the border hotel they lay in would become the same as those in any other southern town, its Aerugan trappings no more than a novelty.

Lust set the milk aside for the moment, it joining the rest of the tea service. It was arranged pleasantly enough on its tray, white cups with such tiny handles and delicate patterns upon them, a matching teapot steaming quietly atop its candles, though what a small jar of honey was doing there was anyone’s guess. Was that what Aerugans had in their tea, instead of sugar? She slipped it into a pocket regardless; Envy would probably swallow it all on one gulp if she let him. Perhaps he and Gluttony could share it once she returned home.

Lust lifted the pot from the tea lights beneath, still warm, Pride’s darkness deepening at the flare of candlelight, weak as it was, spilling into the teapot’s shadow as well, watching the liquid pour into each cup. A quiver of uncertainty passed through him when his eyes fell upon a _second_ cup. He balked and withdrew, huddling around his container, and it bolted upright, kicking off the sheets, covering its face as if to wait out a dizzy spell.

**“I do not want any,”** he groaned behind his hands, tugging the silk back to his neck despite the heat. It was a gentle lie.

“Nonsense, you must be parched,” she said, the sugar cubes falling into the tea with three quiet _plops,_ just the one for her. A soft fizz filled the room as they sank and dissolved, a splash of milk following.

“Try it.”

Pride opened his mouth, as if to protest further, but closed it again. Another strip of his shade reached out and took the cup from her, saucer balancing on its ‘wrist’. He hesitated for too many seconds, his lilac eyes meeting hers, before forcing himself to take a gulp. His shadowy eyes opened wide, the shadow itself freezing, shaking, before a long grin coiled up around them, arcing over the ceiling.

**“Mm.”** His true self rumbled while the container took long sips, eyes closed as if to savour it and a thin tendril slithered onto the cup’s rim from under his palm, lapping at it as well, a snake at a pool. The undertone of _surprise_ did not go unnoticed, but she only smiled behind her own cup. He sipped, sipped, and drained the cup in one. **“It is perfect.”**

“I knew you’d like it.”

Out the corner of her vision Lust saw him flip his pillow over, nuzzling it, though he lay down on top of the covers this time, shadows billowing once more. Her Lance stabbed into the side of one tea light, dragging it forward gingerly, while another brought the letter close. She held the dark wax over the candle, until a splotch formed, something usable.

“Would you like to do the honours, dear brother?” she turned in her chair, holding the seal out between two extended nails. Her brother did not answer, his doze already given way to a deeper sleep, shadows retracted completely, but offering their almost inaudible _zuus_ to the silence, curling under his skin. Even in sleep, Lust had never seen him truly settle.

“Ah, never mind.”

Once she had finished with the seal, and with nothing better to do, Lust opened her neglected quill box, brushing out the new ivory quills, fresh from the left wing of a fine gander, rearranging them. If she wasn’t careful Envy would snatch one when she arrived home, breaking up the set, then play innocent as he did, because who bothered distinguishing _goose feathers_ , he would say. Her gaze flitted from her seal, the golden dot of its eye flickering, and over to her new stamp.

_Aha._

Inspired, Lust gently lifted the stamp, dipped it into the crimson ink, and pressed it against each quill in turn, painting the tips with the dragon curled over its star. She blew them dry, the design blurring slightly as the barbs trembled, but remaining, fully hers. Let Envy pretend they were his own quills now.

While Lust finished her tea, her hand trailed over her own marking, the shared symbol of their perfection…that Pride did not share. Once or twice her Lance had delved deep, deep into the divine substance that formed her brother and felt something strange within, fleeting brushes of her fingers to it, a crimson flash that just as quickly melted away beneath his layers, but nothing definite, nothing worth speaking of. She dared not mention it to him without certainty. Her lips pursed, almost a frown, and her sight drifted back to the small stamp, a drop of ink welling up in the dragon’s tail, running down its edge like a tear. She looked to the small, dozing form of her brother, no eyes or teeth or shadows. It would be a shame not to try out her stamper once more.

She smirked, gliding from the chair with stamp and inkpad in hand.

The mattress sinking ever so slightly as she crawled forward, Lust laid the inkpad down on the silk and leaned close, the split in her dress protesting a tad. Pride had rolled onto his back in his sleep, arms outstretched like a cat basking, sighing very softly every so often, though it was more him simultaneously remembering and forgetting to breathe, unneeded. They spent much too long among the humans.

Her hair slipped forward, cascaded over her shoulders and brushed over him, but he did not stir. Perfect. She eased his nightshirt collar lower with one hand and coated the stamp in its ink with the other, so gently pressing the stamp into the porcelain join of his shoulder and neck. The red spears of the dragon’s teeth gleamed as they dried, almost like it was grinning, exquisite. Lust smirked even wider, and found herself dipping into the ink again. One more couldn’t hurt, right?

Another dragon spread its pretty wings upon her brother’s right cheek, and when her fingers cupped his face, turning his other cheek towards her, his eye cracked open as a glassy slit. She noticed a moment too late, already stamping him a third time, forcing it closed again, and he pushed her away with a whine. At least it did not smudge.

**“Nh—Lust, what-- ”** His shade oozed behind him as he awoke fully, arranging the pillows to let him sit up, yawning and stretching, flashing her a muted scowl, **“What did you--”** Pride fidgeted before his own shadow eyes, using them as a mirror, assessing the ‘damage’, **“Hmh,”** his tendrils flicked with curiosity, while his human hands dabbed the mark on his cheek, coming away clean, already dry. **“Interesting. Though twice more than required.”**

“I got a bit carried away,” she admitted, a tinge of rose heating her cheeks. Lust licked her thumb, reaching to wipe her silly whims from him, but his shadow caught her wrist.

**“Leave them,”** he whispered. The shape of the twin Ouroboroi became indistinct, and Lust thought he was regenerating his container’s skin instead, but no, the same faint pink lit his face. **“Our perfection is the last thing so many humans shall ever see.”** He stroked her cheek, and a tendril unfurling from his wrist rested on her own tattoo, firm yet gentle as a kiss.

**“Now come, we would not want to miss breakfast.”** Pride hopped off the bed, forgoing getting dressed, still smiling drowsily as his tendril opened the door. Hopefully a few humans had come to rest at the lower floors in their foolishness. Some ‘housekeeping’ would not go amiss.

Returning the smile, Lust followed, taking his hand and leaving their letter atop the desk, a promise to return. The room – the hotel itself – was theirs now, and they would stay here for a while yet.


End file.
